Cʀᴏᴏᴋᴇᴅ Portrait Boy
by The Write Philosophia
Summary: "Leave me alone!" His paint-covered hand wrapped around the lens of the camera, attempting to conceal his identity. In between the space between the dirty fingers, an aggravated face could be seen. With a jerk, he pushed the camera away, sending the camera towards the wall of a crumbling building. Footsteps echoed through the deserted location as the street artist fled. [ Oneshot ]


**I FINALLY FINISHED THIS ONE-SHOT. TIME TO GET FAT ON ICE CREAM AND HIGH ON K-POP.**

**( By the way, whenever I see my newly-posted story on the Minecraft archive or something I immediately go on panic mode. Like, crying-regretful-tears-and-eating-nachos-while-watching-korean-drama panic mode. )**

**Anyway, back to a serious A/N. You can imagine the Person any way you want. Boy, girl, cactus, anything! ****And yes, there's a reason why "Cʀᴏᴏᴋᴇᴅ****" is different from the rest of the words and not just because I want to look like a swag rag (that was originally a typo, but I'm keeping that there).**

**Guise, let's just keep in mind that I'm not an emo teen, and my writing genres tend to switch bipolarly. ^3^ Also, my next concept is going to be fluffy romantic comedy with unicorns and kitties. Seriously. I have to finish part two of a two-shot.**

**/shot**

**Recommended Song: **_**Whatever You Wanna Play **_**by Whoever Made Your Music**

**} - { Cʀᴏᴏᴋᴇᴅ Portrait Boy ****} - {**

**[ ****"I don't need kindness. It doesn't work for me anymore." ]**

_Energy: 100%_

_Recording..._

_00:01_

As its lens focused into clarity, an anything but luxurious building was revealed. Its walls were cracked, and the filthy ground was littered with trash by apathetic passerbys. The inky black skies blanketed the city and the moon peeked through the bleak clouds.

"Searching for Crooked, take one," the Person behind the camera whispered. Immediately, the camera began to move forward, showing more of the dirty landscape of the setting. Weeds poked out of the gravel road here and there; cozy cottages constructed of light birch and dark spruce were neatly placed next to one another in order, not a single one standing out. Each had the same flower in a vase sitting on the window sill, each had the same architecture, each had no personality of its own. It seemed as if every cottage was just an extremely accurate copy. To anyone else, this was a rather mundane, average town.

But the most unique part of the rather mundane, average town was about to be revealed to the world.

At the sight of it, the cameraman gasped. It was a faint gasp, a subtle one that couldn't be detected by others, but it was a gasp nonetheless, for that house was unlike any other.

Like all the other buildings, this one was made of wood as well. Well, what could be presumed as wood. The building was covered with eye-popping displays of color. Its shut door that looked like a monster's mouth had a messily scrawn picture of a black and white silverfish with sunglasses. Other strange characters varied from a violet enderman wearing a wig to a young miner holding a book titled "Guide to Thinking." All of these were painted with thousands if not millions of colors. It was as if all of the pieces of an art museum were melted into a melting pot and splashed upon the house to form dozens and dozens of vibrant cartoons.

This was only the tip of the iceberg that made up the legacy of the infamous artist, Crooked.

"Whoa," the Person behind the camera breathed to no one in particular. "Do... do you think that's him?"

Eventually, after orbiting the house a couple of times, our view goes away from the wrecked cottage to search for more intriguing sights in the shopping district of the town.

The occasional splat of paint on a wall was found here and there, but other than that, an entire hour was wasted in vain. Even the voice seemed to frustrated, sometimes sighing. It was a repetitive cycle of zooming in on the spray of paint on a wall, continuing to vainly search for other out-of-the-ordinary sights, and repeat.

As the sky became painted with an even darker shade of coal black, the camera's life was still holding strongly with eighty-six percent of its battery. However, the Person's patience was at an all time low based on the amount of sighs that were exhaled. It seemed like a rather bland tour of a shopping center rather than the search for a notorious vandal. If this continued, then this film would be such a waste of time! Something more amazing, more spectacular, more enthralling could've been made, and a day was just wasted wandering aimlessly everywhere! If nothing was found this night...

Dunk!

"Ugh! **[Censored]**"

Curiously, the Person turned the corner. The first thing that was seen was not the hooded figure that was splashed in paint nor the spilled pond of neon green from a bucket, but the hand of the artist himself.

"Leave me alone!"

His paint-covered hand wrapped around the lens of the camera, attempting to conceal his identity. In between the space between the dirty fingers, an aggravated face could be seen. With a jerk, he pushed the camera away, sending the camera towards the wall of an old, crumbling building.

Although the film was blurred, one could tell the wall was not bare; it was splashed with a mess of aesthetic color. Blue, emerald, scarlet, moccasin, amaranth purple, cerise. They all pulled in an artistic hand to form the figure of a cicada so realistically painted you could almost hear its repetitive chirps. Footsteps echoed through the deserted location, and the camera turned around to witness a notorious street artist flee from the scene. The screen shook as the possessor of the camera chased after him, intrigued.

The cicada blurred away as the camera pursued him, winding through streets like a slithering snake. As soon as it appeared that the artist had slowed down, he would surprise the pursuer with a burst of energy as he charged forward relentlessly, widening the gap between him and his pursuer. The pairs of footsteps echoed throughout the closed shopping district.

Finally, the hooded figure whipped around, his eyes narrowed. His words were anything but cordial.

"What the **[ Censored ] **do you want?"

The other person replied sheepishly, "Um, sir, you... uh, aren't allowed to swear on camera."

"Oh, really?" He shot a frigid glare at the camera. **"[ String of Colorful Vocabulary Deleted ]"**

"I would like to have you know, sir, that that has been censored from the video. I'm sorry."

"... Eff you. Is that included?"

"Yes, yes it is."

"Okay, then. I'll settle with that. Now leave me alone." The artist turned around and began walking away, his hands in his pockets.

"P-Please don't leave, Crooked!"

Crooked turned around. If looks could kill, not only would the audience be dead, but they would be shot with painful daggers as sharp as enderdragon scales dipped in the venom of cave spiders.

"Are you an obsessive fan or something? Get lost," he hissed.

"N-No, I'm a novice film... filmmaker. And, uh..."

His sarcastic chuckle echoed through the deserted shopping district, the atmosphere suddenly becoming eerie. "filmmaker, eh?" More laughter. His left eye gleamed in the dark, giving off an aura of menace. The area around it was... odd. Surrounding it was a peculiar emerald color. It was as if a zombie had infected him only partially, for the rest of his body except for his left eye was just like any other player. This signature part of him gave off an even more menacing aura, as if he was someone to be feared. The camera shook slightly, hinting that the owner's hand was struggling to suppress the anxious trembling of his hand.

"C-Can I please film you? I, um, want to enter this new film festival contest for new film makers, and, uh, I thought 'No one ever tried t-to find out Crooked's story' so I-I wanted to film you."

He scoffed, about to hiss out another insult when a different, deeper male voice interrupted the novice filmmaker and the street artist.

"Hey!"

A ray from a police officer's flashlight shined upon both Crooked and the camera from far away. Instead of everyone's expectation of Crooked to be filled with panic, a groan erupted from him. "Ugh! Did you see what you just did? **[ Censored ]**"

"Hey," the voice shouted again, firm and superior. "What are you two doing here?"

Crooked grinned. Even if the man did not have a flashlight, it would be easy to tell his two eyes glinted mischievously in the dark.

"Oh, good afternoon, police officer," he grinned like a Cheshire Cat, "would you like to see a magic trick?"

The man was taken aback by his irrelevant comment, but this only managed to make him stand his ground even more, for his voice was still as immune to distractions with much authority in case this criminal proved more than a mere vandal. "Sir, please answer my question."

"But don't you want to see a magic trick?" he pressed politely, his hands behind his back. "It's pretty cool, if I do say so myself."

"Okay, sir, you have to leave the property at once, or else I'll have to -"

Instantly, a round, unidentifiable object was pulled out and flung onto the ground, sending a massive cloud of dandelion yellow into the crisp night air. The display of powdery dust in the atmosphere blocked everyone's vision. As suddenly as the appearance of the golden smoke, a subtle shatter was heard from faraway. If you focused your eyes, faint glittering ender fragments floated within the mist. And then...

Static. Accompanied by an irritating buzz, black and white dots littered and tumbled and shifted and teleported to various spots of the screen of the camera. For several seconds, it was like this, until a voice revived the film, welcoming it back into the world of color.

"Did you see what you did there? You nearly got arrested for simply standing next to me."

All of the monochrome dots had vanished at the same time. A ticked off Crooked was standing with his hands in his denim pockets on a rooftop, his poor posture curving his back like a S. The shout of the policeman below them was neglected as the camera zoomed in at the midnight scenery of the sky, the stars spying on them.

"Go away." The camera turned to meet Crooked giving the Evil Eye. "You already screwed up everything."

However, the novice filmmaker, although being a rather timid person, was determined to know more. "M-May I ask for your real name? Just the first name?" the Person requested.

Crooked groaned, "My first name is my first name, that's all there is to it. Now get lost."

"Can I please, please record you?" the person begged.

"I don't need kindness. It doesn't work for me anymore. Mother of Notch, just leave me alone!" he shouted at the camera furiously like a raging blaze about to shoot fire towards an innocent miner. "It's people like you who are so 'friendly' that I hate the most, and somehow, many of you live off of me like a leech."

Out of his pocket, he pulled out an enderpearl that glistened radiantly under the subtle, milky moonlight. "I wasted one of these to save your ass, and I can use one of these to get away from you." With that, fractures of an enderpearl flew into the air as Crooked suddenly vanished, leaving an infinite amount of questions unanswered.

But something seemed... off about the peculiar star of this show. And as the foot of the Person gently kicked a sharp fragment of the enderpearl, the feeling the artist left felt odd, almost bizarre. There was something he was hiding, and although he didn't state it directly, Crooked hinted towards it. But what exactly was "it?"

* * *

_Energy: 67%_

_Recording..._

_00:01_

Squeals of cheerful children floated through the air like the vibrant-colored kites they were flying. Adults calmly chatted with other parents, and lovey-dovey couples dined on sandwiches. Some other park-goers strolled down the concrete sidewalk surrounding the perimeter. A group of smiling friends passed by the camera quickly. It seemed as if chirping was suddenly in fashion amongst birds, because the musical chorus of robins resounded throughout the tranquil park.

This feeling of abrupt normality contrasted with the fast, almost urgent pace of the scene prior to our present location; something must be wrong, something that has flown under the radar without our knowledge. It must be in plain sight, anything that is somewhat different.

It was just a normal, simple park filled with normal, simple people.

_Meow._

A stray tabby purred in bliss as a young man ran his fingers through its orange fur.

"What's up, kitty?" he asked happily, scratching behind its fluffy ears. It sat down obediently, waiting eagerly for more attention to be thrown at him to devour like a lion. Chewing on his mint gum, he obliged by petting him more. "Did someone leave you here? Or did you wander all the way from the jungle biome nearby?" Its only reply was another one of its signature purrs. The stranger took it as an answer anyway. "Aw, those so-called 'friends' of yours are really mean to ditch you in that jungle, huh?"

"Why don't you talk to real people who actually understand you instead of cats?" A girl - his friend, presumingly - crossed her arms impatiently, the young man behind her tapping his foot on the concrete with a crooked smile.

"Heh, still obsessed with animals?" he asked, kicking a nearby pebble.

The animal-lover stood up, but instead of joining them on their planned stroll, he stared at the tabby's tail that waved like a flag. His friends already began to leave him behind, but even so, he gave the small feline a sidelong glance.

"Huh... we may have more in common than I thought."

Turning his back on the stray, he took long strides to catch up with his comrades. They continued their conversation, nothing else eventful happening. However, the curious filmmaker decided that there was something off, something odd, something... crooked. Deciding quickly, the camera followed them with the stealth of a snake, eventually stopping at the park bench where the three were seated.

It caught massive snippets of the conversation.

"Can we please use two of your enderpearls? You have a lot of them, so it would be nice if you let us have some," begged the girl with massive, innocent eyes.

The young adult cocked his head to the side inquisitively. "But can't you buy them yourself?"

"But y'know we have to go all the way to the other side of town for those, though, and we need them ASAP," the young man said.

"But why?" he asked. "Uh... you said you would pay me back for the other five that you used. They're, uh, kind of expensive."

"Well, I'm really sorry to bother you but..." The rest of her sentence faded away and was substituted with a sob that could pierce even the most concrete of stone hearts. Her emotions just erupted like a volcano, a steady stream of wet tears spilling onto her pale cheeks.

The young man next to her replied, "She really wants to see her mother because she caught an illness. Her mom might not have much time left to live."

The tears continued on as she sobbed, "I... I haven't seen her... in four years..."

Awkwardly digging into his pocket, the innocent animal-lover sighed as he pulled out two transparent enderpearls. "I guess you can as long as you can pay me back, please."

Immediately, her face shone brightly, tears of bliss and relief apparent in her face. "Thank you," she said gratefully as she admired the brilliance of the precious items in her hands. With a sigh, she smiled. "Thank you, thank you so much."

After a bit more of a scattered conversation ranging from topics such as redstone contraptions to the biology of slimes, the teen who had given the enderpearls was eventually sitting alone on the spruce bench. Time was beginning to take its toll based on the splatter of vibrant colors splashed upon the massive blue canvas of the sky. Even nature itself was an artist, but its work was usually unacknowledged by the people who don't value each passing day anymore, who don't notice the strange and admire it, who don't notice the now hooded figure of the animal-lover blending in with the night, his intended destination unknown.

The special exception, however, was the camera.

It secretly and silently watched him from behind, trailing behind him like a stray kitten and capturing his every movement from his steps on the filthy concrete he took to the slightest shift of the direction he was walking in. The young prodigy took us around different destinations and similar surroundings, as if he was just strolling in a repetitive tour of town that would repeat again and again and again and -

Without warning, the young man halted. Not wanting to be discovered, the camera dove behind a metal trash can filled to the brim with rotten foods and worthless wrappers. One of two filled coffee cups that were left nearby had poured its contents over, betraying the other carton and leaving a brown sticky mess. The Person held his breath, afraid.

And at just the wrong moment, a stroke of bad luck occurred, as if the camera itself was against this documentary.

Beep.

_[ LOW BATTERY ] Energy: 20%_

"There's no need to hide, y'know. I know you're there."

A brisk gasp could be heard from the possessor of the camera, taken aback by his comment. Well, it's certain that one person would not receive an award for stealth, but what about the other nominee?

"Oh, uh, sorry, because, uh, I thought you..."

"Go away. You're just like those leeches that live off of me every day!" he hissed. This was even more shocking than his previous words. This was not how anyone had expected the seemingly kind animal-lover to act, and this was definitely not the moral behavior of a kind person. At first, the Person turned away from the teen after muttering an almost inaudible apology, but then he seemed to realize something.

"Hey... did you say just something about leeches?"

"Yeah, so? Are you too good for the word 'leech?'"

"Uh... no. It's just that I met a really rude guy as well, and, um, he said something about leeches, too. I'm not sure, but, um, are you -"

Suddenly, a massive outburst pierced through his unsaid words. "... **[ Censored ] **Can't I keep any secrets at all? What the Nether is wrong with me? Just leave me alone! I was alone in the first place, anyway."

Crooked was about to flee from the scene when he bumped into someone. However, this person was not human after all. Instead of warm skin, it was cold and rough like a reptile's. It towered over him like a mighty violet redwood, daring him to shoot a glare. In response, Crooked's eyes were shut tightly, avoiding the gurgling sounds emitting from the enderman.

With closed eyes, he muttered, "Don't look in the eyes. Don't look in the eyes. Don't look in the eyes."

Several other minutes passed, and Crooked, having no inkling if the animal was gone, began to grow impatient. He would tap his foot or hum an unfamiliar song, expecting and hoping the sixth sense of the creature's presence to slowly fade away. And yet, the enderman refused to give up its ground voluntarily, keeping his eyes fixated on him.

Neither was willing to leave their spot.

He couldn't tolerate the suspense any longer, so with an audacious peak, he scrutinized his surroundings, hoping the hostile mob had teleported away.

Unfortunately, his eyes landed right into two pools of magenta.

The aggravated enderman's jaw flipped open, harsh howls vibrating from its ravenous throat.

Quickly reacting, the hand of the Person grabbed a coffee cup and threw it towards the creature. Its calculated course hit its target successfully, causing a deafening squeal to pierce through the night. With a final hoarse scream, the only evidence of the enderman's presence was the small residue of powdery lilac dust.

Crooked turned around. For the first time, he was speechless. No bullets of insults were shot, no swear words exploded, nothing but a dropped jaw, wide eyes, and speechlessness.

"How... Why... Are you... Who exactly are you?"

The film producer attempted to form a witty comment to impress the star of the show. "Um... uh... Someone who hates the ordinary?"

Beep.

_[ LOW BATTERY ] Energy: 15%_

After a brief silence of Crooked regaining his sly composure, he sighed. "Oh, really?" Crooked asked with a signature grin. "Then you're in the wrong place." Leaning on the cold bare wall of a building, he fitted his hands in his denim pockets. "A documentary about a nobody won't even win you last place in that film competition you're entering. Hey, how are they gonna decide who's gonna win the film?"

"Uh... the audience votes."

"In that case, if you _really _want to win that film competition, get some actors and make a love story. Amnesia here, musical number there, and a huge marriage at the end. If you do that, people will be practically eating from your palm for more. It'll probably at least be the runner up compared to filming me, a person who'd land rock bottom in a list for 'most interesting person' and would score first place in a loser contest."

"But... the... I still want to. It doesn't matter. As, uh, as long as I get practice in film. And this is p-pretty good practice for a newbie."

Another sigh. "Fine then. Anyway, I kinda owe you since you saved me. Is this gonna be an interview or some **[ Censored ]**?"

"I... I guess."

"Then let's walk and talk, shall we?" Abandoning the support of the wall, he began to stroll forward. The camera curiously trotted behind him steadily, maintaining an identical pace to him. Finally, after all that time of pressing questions, some questions would be answered.

Some.

"So, uh, what's your real name?"

"I've already revealed my face. Isn't that bad for my identity already?"

Soon, the background of the interview seemed to change, slowly transforming into something vaguely familiar. Deja vu, perhaps? But no, wasn't there a painted cicada that...

The forecasted painting was, however, incorrect. Dull white paint on the wall was the impostor who had stolen the art's place.

Crooked answered the unsaid question like a clairvoyant fortune-teller. "Some people don't like my art, so they paint over it. I hate it when that happens."

"Uh... yeah. Yeah, me too."

With an aggravated sigh, he suddenly kicked a can in an attempt to release his bitter stress. The metal container struck the painted wall, only to bounce back and collide into his ankle in offense and retreat towards the white paint. With piercing eyes, he glared at the empty canister, his lips shut tightly. He seemed to be practically drowning in private thoughts, until the Person politely tapped his shoulder.

"A-Are you okay?"

"Oh, oh yeah. Just thinking about things. C'mon, ask a question before I decide to quit this 'interview.'" With steady steps, he continued walking forward as he spoke.

A thoughtful silence reigned as a tyrannical king.

Beep.

_[ LOW BATTERY ] Energy: 10%_

"Um, earlier - I mean a few days ago, no, yesterday I think, I passed by this house with all, um, with paint all over it and pictures that look like yours. Is, uh, is that your house?"

"No. One time I got caught by the rich dude living there, so I had to repaint all of the walls I painted for an entire month. So then one day that snobby dude was on vacation at the Aether, so I decided to take advantage and show him my gratitude." With thoughtful eyes, he looked up at the waning moon. "Someday, they'll see." A chuckle escaped his mouth. An uncertain, shaky chuckle. "But for now, I'm just that worthless idiot who should shut up before he hurts himself even more."

With a loud, throaty sound, a piece of faintly green gum flew out of Crooked's mouth like a bullet, landing onto the cold concrete.

The honest Person behind the camera awkwardly said, "Uh..."

"City's already a dump, so a piece of gum won't affect anything," said Crooked. "If you're really going to be making this movie about me, I suggest to stop being a goody-two-shoes."

A pondering hum from the film maker behind our sight rose, wondering about what question should be asked next. It was rather bold, so the words spilled out as quickly like a steady stream as they left with the burn of lava on Crooked's mood. "Uh... were those guys your friends? A-At the park?"

"They're the worst 'friends' I've ever had. Don't think I'm stupid. I know she's lying with that 'my mom is dying' thing. She took drama in school. I do whatever they tell me to do because they know I'm Crooked. If I don't, then the secret could get out, and neither of us want that, right?"

Silence.

"Oh... uh, sorry?"

"It's fine. I've gotten used to this a lot. I like to call Social Solitude Syndrome."

"Social... what?"

"It's just a thing when you have 'friends,' but you somehow still feel alone as heck. Kinda like a disease. There's no more genuine people in this world for me, so all I'm getting is crap. No one to love, no one to turn to. Almost the same as being deserted in an island. Or maybe I'm just being stupid and overreacting. Either way, don't worry about it. I don't want to make you bored."

He concluded the conversation with a mere shrug as he abruptly stopped in front of a store. Through the scratched glass, hundreds of pet toys were sloppily thrown into unorganized shelves. Barks erupted out of cages that contained tamed canines, provoked by customers. Tiny confined slimes splashed in a puddle of their green ooze inside of their plastic homes. The store's neon lights shined through the dark evening like a beacon, spelling out "Pet Store."

"I'll be right back," said Crooked. Without waiting for a response, he pushed through the birch doors of the shop. Through the transparent, shining windows, a few glimpses of Crooked could be seen. Most of the time, he stared at the neon fishes gliding through the wet sky of the algae-painted tanks. He would occasionally converse with the young worker at the shop, an oddly placed pet slime perched on her shoulder. Then, after a while of inspecting the many pets at the store, he finally politely asked the worker to fish out a tiny cichlid from the tank. The yellow fish squirmed and writhed and gasped for water in the net it was entangled in. With care, she dropped it into the small plastic bag of water and placed it into the hands of Crooked, counting the money given like a tax collector.

He left the shop, plastic bag in hand. He carefully displayed the fish in front of the camera with pride.

"I was getting a bit lonely, so I wanted to buy a fish, heheh."

And for a split second, a kind, unseen boy shined through a crack in the painted wall.

As soon as he realized this, he immediately slipped back into his crooked persona. "Yeah, but a **[ Censored ] **fish is probably not going to fix my stupid situation." He sighed, weighing the goldfish in his hands. "So, any more questions? Or are you just going to turn me in to the police?" Crooked continued walking to his destination, the rookie closely tagging along.

Beep.

_[ LOW BATTERY ] Energy: 5%_

"Um... why, uh, why do you paint? What made you want to paint?"

"Whatever made you want to film."

It was extremely subtle, but a grunt could be heard from the Person. Even the film maker was beginning to tire of these ambiguous and snappy answers.

"Was that cicada supposed to symbolize anything?" The Person's voice was even more firm than before, determined to squeeze an answer out of this complex artist.

Crooked sighed. At last, a genuine reply. "Yeah. I want to be heard, but no one bothers to listen." He stopped walking. In front was a cozy house. Well, cozy as in tight. It wasn't anything that anyone suspected. The outside appearance was rather average; nothing suspicious or unusual could be seen. Normal blue walls, normal rusted roof, and a normal wooden door. It was the most unlikely place that someone as unique as Crooked would reside in.

"Well, that's enough talking for today," Crooked said, small plastic bag in hand. "Do you want to continue tomorrow or what?"

"Um, uh, sure. Let's meet up at the park."

"'Kay then," the vandal said. But before he could utter a sarcastic farewell, his foot collided into an uneven level of gravel. The plastic bag he held floated up into the air, the dandelion fish hanging in midair for a second before eventually bursting onto the ground like a bomb. The cichlid flopped wildly on the soaked ground. A panicked Crooked quickly cupped the fish in his hands and dashed through the door into his house.

The Person, rather than going inside the house, awkwardly stood outside with concern. A few frantic sounds of drawers closing and cabinets slamming could be heard as well a faint curse.

Slam.

Slam.

Slam.

Slam.

CRASH!

Now was the time to intervene.

The filmmaker quickly scurried into the house, worried.

He found him collapsed against the bare wall in a corner. Near him was a collection of shattered glass from a fragile bowl, the yellow cichlid now still. He sobbed terribly, as if grieving a death of a loved one rather than a mere sea creature.

But there was a more complex meaning behind these tears.

"I... I have so many words... so many words that are bottled up inside of me. But no one will listen! No... No one will! I have no one to depend on. I'm tired of being stepped on! I can't believe in myself because I can't believe in anyone. I don't have a brother or sister or mom or dad. I paint because I want to be heard, but if no one wants to hear me then I'd be better off not saying anything at all!"

Now he was roaring to no one but the shattered remains of himself.

"What's so good about me? All my dreams were thrown out a long time ago. My words are useless, every last one of them."

The Person was silent, unsure of what to do.

"I've been crooked to everyone all along. Not honest at all! I've always told everyone I was okay. And I've always smiled when they throw insults. But now I'm so sick of smiling! I'm so, so sick of it!"

Down to its last drop of energy, the camera faded, the concluding words recorded:

"And tomorrow, I'll be just as crooked as yesterday."

* * *

**( Basically, the only purpose of my author notes are to vent out my stress in a humorous way for your entertainment, so I'm ruining the gloomy mood in three, two, one... )**

**I'M SO SORRY I RUINED YOUR THANKSGIVING WITH THIS CRAP AND ALSO DO YOU EVER WANT TO HUG YOUR CHARACTER AND CRY WITH HIM BECAUSE YOU FEEL BAD FOR HIM AND STUFF AND BE ALL LIKE "YOU'RE NURVUR ALURN CRUKED" AND ALSO OVER FIVE THOUSAND WORDS DUCK YEAH.**

**Duck: *waddles over* You called?**

**... No. Anyway, ****annyeong~ Philosophia speaking~! So... uh... how ya doing? *nervous smile***

**Sorry for being a crappy writer for procrastinating. I'm not going to supply you with fake excuses. I'm not going to say I'm an honors student or I've been struggling with personal problems. Nope, the answer's even more simple: I'm purely a procrastinating, terrible writer. Yeah, that's right. I said it. I admit it, but I'm hoping to break that habit. ^_^ And so, I brought this little one-shot as compensation, and I hope this was something that you've never seen before and enjoyed.**

**Guy from the Crowd: THAT'S WHAT THEY ALL SAY! *throws plastic cup which spills on her head***

**OKAY, NOW THAT'S JUST RUDE. *ahem* You know that feeling when you return from a two-month hiatus and read your old writing, cringing dozens of times while bashing your head on the laptop and asking "Why the Nether did you think this could take off, past self?" Yep. Had that today. My stories here are so outdated ;-; I've evolved from a Pikachu to a Pichu since then. Except sexier.**

**PHILOSOPHIA: 100% MORE SEXIER THAN PICHU.**

**( I just don't know anymore. )**

**This is probably really, **_**really **_**subtle, but the fish that Crooked bought was yellow, remember? I googled up symbolism for colors, and it meant friendship, but it could also mean deceit and betrayel. And dude, my dad has yellow cichlids, and they're freaing aggressive. Like, Battle Royale agressive. **

**Yeah, I said Battle Royale because I prefer it over the Hunger Games. COME AT ME BRO, I AIN'T SCARED. **

**And with those words, I depart, so you can flame me at the review section down below.**

_**_^Philosophia^_**_


End file.
